Mystery Case Files: Ravenhearst
by ashstar54321
Summary: The first game in the 'Mystery Case Files: Ravenhearst' series as told through the detective.
1. May 11, 2006

**Author's notes:  
**I have recently become hooked on the _Mystery Case File: Ravenhearst _series, and, seeing as I could uncover very little fanfictions on these games, I have set out to add more. Much as the game largely is centered around the diary of Emma Ravenhearst, this will center around the journal of detective Josephine Miller (OC). Also, these will likely be rather short chapters. I hope you enjoy it!  
-Ashstar

…...

_May 11, 2006_

_Dear Journal (I refuse to call you a diary because that seems too…too…trivial, too light for this investigation.)_

_I stand here, in front of Ravenhearst Manor. Tall, dark, foreboding, abandoned, creepy Ravenhearst Manor. Why am I here? Because the Queen of England herself sent me a personal letter requesting my investigation of strange goings on in Blackpool (where Ravenhearst is located). Why did she send me? She said in her letter that it's because she knows that I'm the only one who can handle this investigation. Why does she think an amateur sleuth such as I can figure out something like this? I have no idea. In my satchel, I carry few items: this log, several pens, a pocket knife, the remains of a pack of cheese crackers, and a diary. The diary belonged to a young woman known as Emma Ravenhearst, who, as I understand used to inhabit this manor but is long dead. Perhaps, despite this, she still makes her home there. I don't know; I don't consider myself a believer in the paranormal, but upon doing some research, perhaps I should reconsider this skepticism... Although the binding of Emma's diary contains the edges of several ripped-out pages, few entries remain in-tact. It is pouring_ _rain (as it seems to be always in Blackpool) and I get the feeling that I should have stayed in bed this morning. But instead, I find myself here. The first entry is dated August 24, 1894. At this point, Emma details her arrival in Blackpool from Iowa, after attending a teachers' college. She plans to take board with a headmistress in exchange for household chores. The second entry, dated September 5 that year, mentions that while Blackpool isn't a town bursting with activity thus far, she is eagerly anticipating the fall dance later in the week. Frankly, I am of the mind that Blackpool is still not bursting with activity. I talked to a few of the locals, but they seem resolute in making me feel unwelcome. They seem to think that entering the manor results in frightening experiences and anyone associated with the bleak structure is going to inevitably cause trouble for Blackpool. As one gentleman told me, 'Well, best of luck to you, but you're probably going to be either scarred for life or scared to death.' I hope that he's all bluster and that the obviously deep fear of the estate is some act they put on to scare tourists, but if I don't open my mind at least a bit to the possibility of the paranormal, I may find myself in a tough spot. Although I am quite curious as to what the source of this chaos is about, I am also filled with apprehension. Oh well, here goes…_


	2. May 11, 2006 (Later)

_May 11, 2006 (slightly later)_

_It seems that Ravenhearst Manor is packed with a most random collection of odds and ends. Although I can easily imagine what a place of grandeur and magnificence it must have been, it now looks like a place for people's basement overflow. I feel barred from certain parts of the house, as if some supernatural force is trying to keep me out…but that's ridiculous, right? I have found my way into a few rooms, an entry way, a parlor, and a front porch. There are scraps of food and small animals everywhere, namely roaches, flies, mice, and a black cat which seems to have taken residence on the porch. Shockingly, none of the food (mostly produce scattered about) seems to have decomposed too much. This brings up the question: is the food just magically not rotting or is there someone else here? It seems particularly eerie. Even more peculiar are the locks that have been installed on several doors. The first lock I encountered involved several tokens emblazoned with various images, all seemingly centered around the sun and moon. One side of the board were a small gathering of painted clouds, on the other, stars, and it seemed that to unlock this room I had to make an image on the sun and moon appear on their respective sides by flipping a switch. After much trial and error (and several attempts at kicking the door down in frustration), the door to the parlor swung open on ancient hinges. The late afternoon downpour coupled with the sun shedding orange and gold rays in the distance cast a bizarre and slightly sinister screen of light and shadow through the bay windows. In each room (so far, at least) there are scraps of paper well hidden among the clutter. Although in this first round of searching I uncovered the pieces with relative ease, I fear that the rest of the rooms may pose more of a challenge. After uncovering all the scraps, I found that they could be pieced together into another one of Emma Ravenhearst's diary entries. How did I discover this? I tripped over a pile of debris in the entry hall. I am forced to admit that paying attention to my surrounding and grace are not necessarily my strongest traits, especially when my mind is elsewhere (namely on the case). After dusting myself off (you would not believe how much dust lays on everything!), checking for any bodily damage, and staring at the fluttering snippets, I realized that several of the jagged edges seem to fit together, not unlike a jigsaw puzzle. I presume I would have taken much longer to realize this had I not tripped, so I suppose that, despite a large purple bruise on my shin, it was well worth it. This new development in way of Emma's history is quite fascinating and I feel that it will be hugely significant in the future, though exactly how I know not yet. It is dated September 10, 1894, the eve of the fall festival previously mentioned. As she writes, Emma had been acquainted with a charming gentleman by the name of Charles Dalimar. If I remember the local folklore correctly, it was Dalimar who constructed the manor. They got along quite well, and spent the evening dancing and enjoying each other's company and conversation on things "both enthralling and mundane" as she put it. And thus on that note, I continue my investigation._


	3. May 11, 2006 (Late Evening)

_May 11, 2006 (late evening)_

_I have once again stumbled upon the most peculiar of locks; it appears that a most complex series of gadgets has been adhered to the door, much like some sort of bizarre chain reaction! This one, though, was solved much more quickly than the previous lock. I admit to being quite fascinated with the intricate, puzzle-like nature of the design. It involved using several valves to heat a bottle of putrid smelling liquid, which thus inflated a small balloon, which was popped by a pair of scissors, which in turn, revealed another valve, which ignited a blowtorch. The aforementioned torch easily burned through the rusted metal of the padlock which had been sealing the door shut. Once I unlocked the device (and entered the servants quarters which the door had so previously impeded), I continued my search. I now have gained entrance to the servants' quarters, entry, and dining room, though the parlor and porch are now barred to me. It is said that one door opens and another closes- I just wish I knew how to reopen them! I continue to find myself still unable to leave the first floor. Each time I try to explore a new room I am overcome with a wave of vertigo, only to be alleviated the moment I exit. It honestly is most peculiar! I mentioned earlier that I am stoically skeptical of the paranormal. However, upon arrival, I find that perhaps I ought to reconsider. Although I am fairly certain that my fears are ill-founded, I can't help but feel a…presence, as if I'm not alone here; however, Ravenhearst Manor has been abandoned for over a century and the likelihood of someone also residing in the manor now is beyond slim. The daylight is fading fast into a stormy, bleak twilight, but all the lamps seem to be in working order (albeit, flickering and just a tad eerie), so at least I won't be forced to continue in the dark. The clutter continues to challenge my search, but it seem that that will be an ever-present difficulty throughout the house. At one point, while peering into a crevice under the bed in the servants' quarters, that blasted cat I mentioned earlier decided it an opportune moment to leap out from under the bed and take a swipe at my face. Luckily, despite being thoroughly startled, there was no damage done. At last, I recovered each scrap of paper needed to create an entry, and, after minimal aggravation, I reconstructed the jigsaw of fragments. Emma recounts on February 5, 1895, that while she spends a great deal of time with her students, as is her vocation, rare are the evenings spent without Charles's company. By March 14, after an evening carriage ride, Charles proposed on one knee with a beautiful engagement ring. Shocked, her breath caught and…and…the next page was ripped out. Frankly, I admit that I am becoming quite fascinated with Emma's accounts of her time in Blackpool, and if there is one thing that frustrates me to no end, it's a suspenseful ending: "As Charles knelt before me, his request hanging in the air, I felt my breath catch..." (This was followed by the yellowed edges of several more pages, torn straight down to the binding)_

_With a newfound determination (or perhaps stubbornness), I continue my investigation._


	4. May 11, 2006 (Still Later)

_May 11, 2006 (later evening)_

_Although I am still determined to finish this investigation in a timely fashion, I am greatly in need of sleep. However, seeing as I am still confined to the manor, the chances of being fully rested by the time dawn breaks are slim to none. However, I am now allowed to explore the kitchen, front porch, garden, and guest bathroom (meaning, also, I am now allowed by whatever power resides over the manor to explore a small portion of the grounds and second floor). I suppose the floor of the guest bathroom, if I made a makeshift bed of whatever I could salvage, is the most suitable place for a rest. It is still pouring rain, albeit now with the occasional streak of lightning to crack the inky black skies. The lights are still in working order, at least, as much as can be expected for a dilapidated building of this size which has been abandoned for this long. The garden, also packed with miscellany (rain-soaked miscellany), was explored with the aid of an umbrella unearthed in the kitchen and a flashlight which was, shockingly, not entirely dead from the porch. The dusty beam just barely illuminated the unkempt lawn, overgrown shrubbery, and a tree large enough to have probably been planted when the manor was constructed. After recovering a few scraps of paper, I gladly stole back indoors to continue searching. The confounded feline sat on the counter, watching me unblinkingly, as I surveyed the kitchen. An interesting thing about food left out for who-knows-how-many years: it attracts roaches. An interesting fact about roaches: they greatly enjoy crawling up my leg every time I stand still for more than half a minute. When returning upstairs to search the guest bathroom, I was again confronted with a rather bizarre lock. In this contraption, after prodding and rearranging various components, I figured it out. To shorten the description, it simply included a fortune teller automaton, a mechanical fish and fisherman, a slot machine, and a small tick-tack-toe board (which, peculiarly enough, seemed to automatically respond to my plays, as if either by itself or by some opponent I could not see); ultimately, as if the lock itself wasn't odd enough, the key I received from the fortune teller was only a paper cutout of a key! On a guess, I placed the paper key into a hole cut into a piece of paper of matching shape. Almost too fantastic to believe, aligning the paper key and key hole unbolted the door. I suppose that my description is quite abstruse, but then again, so is the puzzle. Despite being quite fond of brain-teasers, enigmas, riddles, and such as I have encountered, the complexity and quantity of these locks begin to worry me. After an investigation of the guest bathroom, I began to arrange a place to sleep for the night on the floor. This was not so much a bed as several molding cushions from the front porch covered in a bath towel. I almost dread sleep for fear of whatever else resides in the manor that I have yet to meet, but I am well aware of my impaired ability to function (to say nothing of my awful temper)without at least a short respite. On another note (and perhaps a more relevant one) , I did come across another diary entry. May 16, 1895: Emma debates as to whether or not to decline Charles's gracious proposal. She does acknowledge that she has been anticipating such an occasion for most of her life, and that this may drastically change her life. However, she is unsure as to whether she should accept. After all, she has an entire life ahead of her. May 17, 1895: After much debate (and many a tear shed), she has decided to decline, though she knows not if this is the correct decision. May 18, 1895: Between her melancholy demeanor and delayed answer, Emma is certain that she may have severed her relation to Charles permanently, as well as wounded him deeply. I am wrought with a deep sense of pity for her. Listening to the eerie sounds of the storm, trying not to think of all the ways I could possibly die a horrible and gruesome death throughout the night, I finally attempt sleep._


	5. May 12, 2006 (Morning)

Hello everyone who's been keeping track of _Mystery Case Files: Ravenhearst_!

It's been a while since I've updated. If you happen to be enjoying this story, fear not! I've had some computer trouble, and long story short, I have to replay every level I've already done to move on (and write more). But I do plan to be adding a new chapter (or several new chapters) in the near future!

Special thanks to: You few lovely people who have commented, favorited, and followed this story.  
**Ashstar**

_May 12, 2006 (morning)_

_I woke bright and early from a dreamless, fitful sleep; feeling still weary, I began again on the case. After running my fingers through my hair, stretching, and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I finished the remains of the cheese crackers in my bag. Though hardly a hearty breakfast, it left me feeling satisfied enough to explore some more. The rain has let up enough to only be heavy clouds and a thin drizzle, so I suppose that in itself is a blessing. Not to complain, but just one sunny afternoon, just __one__, would be quite appreciated. It is now permissible to pick through the clutter of the parlor, living room, and dining room on the main floor as well as the back yard, and the music room on the second floor. If I weren't on a case involving a creepy abandoned mansion which is supposedly haunted and full of junk, vermin, and creepy noises, I might actually be enjoying myself very much. In the living room I discovered my diary scraps as well as another cat (this much smaller than the black one which had been trailing me the previous night and with mottled coat of white, brown, and orange) and a fishbowl. The water was built up with green and brown scum and there was a small goldfish floating dead just beneath the surface. I then made my way to the music room, which was, predictably, equipped with another lock. In this contraption, I was presented with a small button, which I depressed, which revealed three dice sitting beneath measured meters and levers. I would crank the levers until the levels on the meters matched the numbers on the dice. A small coin would roll down a shoot from the apparatus holding the dice and into a small coin bank made to resemble a circus elephant. Each time a coin was added, a set of bellows was raised slightly by a rope. After repeating the process three times, the bellows was level with the mouth of a horn. When I pumped the bellows, a trio of paper dots flew from the instrument, landing on a bit of sheet music. I tapped out the notes on a toy keyboard, which released a key from a small compartment behind the keyboard. The music room was mostly full of dust, spider webs, and a pipe organ. The organ was fascinating…until I noticed the __human__skull __inlaid above the keyboard. A __human__skull__. I stood, staring into its empty face, feeling a gripping sense of panic. I sincerely hope that it's a fake, plaster or something of the like. Sincerely hope. After retrieving the fragments of the next journal entry, I quite literally ran from the room, vaulting over the larger pieces of refuse, my hands held out in front of my face to block the copious amount of cobwebs which clung around my person like lace. Once my pulse had returned to normal and my hands no longer shook, I forced myself to move on to the dining room. In the dining room, I noticed few items. A newspaper, too faded to make out the headline, a table that appeared to be set for two, though, like the rest of the house, was overrun with clutter. At one side of the table was an old fashioned wheelchair that looked as though it was not too badly damaged from disuse, though the wheels were draped in cobwebs and a tad rusted in places. The elegant, though small, chandelier gave off plenty of light, which made the search much easier. I then continued on to the back yard, glad that the rain had at least let up a bit from last night. The yard was not as cluttered as the rest of the house, mostly overgrown with creepers and ivy, though it took me a great while to find the journal pieces due to its expansive size. I took note of a large black bird, a raven if I am not mistaken, watching me intently from its perch on the roof, occasionally cawing raucously to me. Although our only interaction was its occasional sharp reprimand, I couldn't help but feel as though it were an omen. Eager to move back inside, I then picked through the parlor. After practically dislocating my shoulder trying to reach under the sofa, I had all of the diary pieces. Feeling now greatly excited, I cleared aside a pile of boxes to sit on the floor and work on the jigsaw puzzle which turned out to be May 3, 1895 and May 5, 1895. On the third Emma notes that Charles took her rejection with great disappointment and she fears that this may end her friendship with him. She is not yet prepared for the confines of marriage, and yet it pains her immensely to turn down his proposal. On the fifth, Charles showed up with a bouquet of red roses and a most playful grin after school. Emma has received news from him that he has procured a large plot of land and the means by which to construct a beautiful home. She is overjoyed at the news. Obviously, the home Charles planned to make is the property which I am in the process of scrutinizing. I've certainly had enough of a break to write all of this down, so back I delve into the seemingly endless search for more of Emma's diary._


	6. May 12, 2006 (probably midday)

_May 12, 2006 (probably around midday)_

_I have access now to the servants' quarters, guest bathroom, study, back yard, and surveillance room (which, of course, is equipped with a state of the art, burglar proofed, excessively complicated LOCK!). In the back yard there is now a myriad of ravens, all of which apparently have nothing better to do than intently observe me. They seem to be congregating around the property, which worries me. To the best of my knowledge, ravens tend to be more solitary. And it's still raining. The servants' quarters had no new discoveries (aside from the sought-after journal fragments), nor did the guest bathroom. However, the black cat I saw last night has dragged itself from its den, wherever that might be, to wander the property. The study was quite pleasant (despite how drafty and unkempt it was); there was a large fireplace, the type which frequents Victorian novels set in dreary England towns. I considered attempting to light it, though the effort was stymied by the lack of firewood and something with which to light it ablaze. I scanned the numerous book shelves, finding some familiar names, such as William Shakespeare and Jane Austin, as well as some which were new to me. I must admit, Charles seems to have had excellent literary taste. After the recovery of the journal pieces I moved on (perhaps a bit grudgingly) to the surveillance room to confront yet another locking mechanism. This one was possibly the most peculiar yet (though likely not the most peculiar in Ravenhearst manor), containing a small television screen which I needed to tinker with until it came into focus, a series or typewriter keys, blue prints, and a Venus fly trap. For future reference, please wear protective gloves when reassembling severed wires (or, at the very least, do not use those metal pliers you found in the ground next to you. Thank the stars above that those wires were no more electric than they were!) The surveillance room seems a bit…off. Although due to age the television screens which lined several walls only showed hazy static, they occasionally flashed into sharp focus. From the glimpse I caught every so often, I was able to discern images of several other rooms. This brings up another point (or more accurately two other points): how could I use this to my advantage? Also, what could this possibly have been used for? Unrelated to the purpose of the surveillance room, I assembled another page of Emma Ravenhearst's diary! May 14, 1895: A carpenter named Frank Williams fell off of the topmost scaffolding of Charles's estate. And died. The town of Blackpool is in mourning. May 16: Emma details accompanying Charles to the funeral, where he remains sullen and detached from the rest of the crowd. Williams left behind a young wife and two children (the poor dears!) As the coffin was lowered into the ground, Charles leans in to Emma and whispers the ominous message "Perhaps I am a cursed man, meant to reside alone in my bedeviled manor…" Although I suppose this comment must be the funeral and Emma's rejection speaking, there is no way that that wasn't intended to sound a bit…desperate? Ominous? Creepy?_

_And now for prolongation of my search._


	7. May 12, 2006 (afternoon)

_May 12, 2006 (afternoon)_

_If I die, it's because I accidently poisoned myself. I was hungry. I was not thinking. So I ate part of an apple which was laying out on a counter. It was only after I had devoured it that I realized that I had eaten a piece of fruit which has been sitting out on a counter since who knows when. Not that anyone is going to go poking around Ravenhearst Manor looking for me, but if they do, you now know how I met my end. On a different note, I have been granted access to the entry hall, kitchen, music room, pantry, and the widows walk. The music room remained unchanged, though now it seems that more journal scraps have magically sprouted in new crevices. And then there's that skull…still staring at me…The entry hall, aside from new pieces to hunt for, has undergone no noticeable change, and the kitchen is as I left it last. The pantry was interesting enough I suppose, but no more so than any other cluttered and dilapidated chamber I've come across. Also, cockroaches. So. Many. Roaches. However, it seems that that problem will soon be eradicated due to the small colony of bats (four or five if I am not incorrect) which have taken residence in the pantry. I gathered what I came to search for and left without hesitation. The widows walk was a welcome change, a chance to get out into fresh air. It's really a stone walkway some thirty feet from the ground, crowded with all sorts of flotsam and jetsam and several foreboding gargoyles, carved with fangs, clawed bat-like wings, and mocking sneers. Despite this, the view of the grounds was lovely! I could see for miles it seemed, and the clouds had dispersed enough to make out a few scant rays of light permeating the gloom in the distance. Interestingly enough, this leg of my journey had no locks, and I say thank goodness for that. Having enough information to recover another glimpse into Emma's life, I pieced together the following (quite literally): May 23, 1895- Emma receives a letter from her mother in Iowa concerning her father. It is disclosed that he has fallen quite ill and the Emma must return home as soon as possible. She will make arrangements with the head mistress for her departure. Her distress threatens to overwhelm her, but she keeps the darkness at bay. Her greatest disappointment is bidding farewell to Charles for a while, if not for good, but, obviously, family takes presidency to all other relations. My insatiable desire to discover the rest of this conundrum drives me to set out again on my quest._


	8. May 12, 2006 (late afternoon)

_May 12, 2006 (late afternoon)_

_I've made progress. Also, apparently eating things that are left around the house doesn't kill me…yet. I am allowed by whatever supreme power to investigate the study, the (locked) library, taxidermy room, front porch, dining room, and back yard. The rain let up only long enough for a stroll through the widows walk and has resumed its downpour. For this reason, my expedition to the backyard ended with me leaving a trail of puddles behind me where ever I chose to wander. The flock of ravens (or possibly crows) has resigned from its post in the backyard and temporarily dispersed. Plotting some horrible murderous fate for me just out of sight, I shouldn't wonder. After I retrieved the cream colored paper scraps, signifying in some way my progress, I retreated back to the indoors. It's funny; some people hunt for gold and jewels and lost civilizations and rare artifacts, but I look for fragments of paper. Sure, I can't sell the scraps for a billion dollars in cash, but it's more rewarding. I don't know why it's more rewarding (I suppose most may find my task excruciatingly frustrating), but I am of the mind that solving the mystery of Ravenhearst Manor is superior than any treasure hunt or search for a lost tribe tenfold. The study was a welcome return. It took me a notably longer time to unearth the sought quarry, but when I finally held the torn clippings, I was irrationally excited. The taxidermy room was…interesting to say the least. It indeed lives up to its name; some of its inhabitants included a lion cub, eternally caught in mid-yawn, several water fowl who will always be held just taking to the air, a fez-clad prairie dog holding a disproportionately large harmonica, a droopy-looking raccoon, and a sick collage of parts—a gopher's hind quarters, a feline's midsection, wings of an owl, antlers, and the neck and head of an ratite bird (quite likely to be an emu or perhaps a rhea). Adding to the unpleasant atmosphere are the billiard-table-green walls. The dining room was untouched as far as I am able to discern, the bay window displaying the occasional blaze of lightning punctuating the cinreal clouds. There is still junk. Hordes of junk. Everywhere I go. I am amazed that anything not well protected from the elements is still uneradicated. The front porch was still in its original less-than-decent condition, and the sporadic gust of wind has displaced enough of the moisture to leave a coating of raindrops over anything too close to the edge. One box I stumbled across (not literally, luckily) was heavy enough to force me to attempt to use a rusted end of a pipe wrench as a jack in order to continue my search. The library lock was keenly irritating; the purpose was to set a central clock to match each of several other time pieces; when set, a compartment would open, revealing an item. The object was to place an 'opposite' to each shown item with its mate (flame and icicle, salt shake and pepper grinder, photo and negative, et cetera), which would close the compartment and show an image of a 'number' clue- a six-pointed star, three pronged trident, and so on. These signified the order in which to punch in digits of a keypad, thus unlocking the library. The library is drafty, poorly lit (the only light a few shafts of watery mid-afternoon sunlight piercing the clouds), and smells of mildew. I don't like it one bit. At last, I had a next recount of Emma's experiences in Blackpool. May 24, 1895: Emma plans on her return to Iowa, with great sympathy and compassion from the headmistress with whom she has been lodging. Charles, however, takes the news with a less-than-understanding attitude; she mentions his rage fueled tirade on her departure, followed by an attempt at flattery by declaring that he will name his manor in her honor. She wonders, and rightfully so, if the charade is his attempt at maintaining her presence in England. With heavy heart, she prepares for departure. I am beginning to fear for Emma's sake. For this reason, I abandon my journal and carry on the pursuit. _


	9. May 12, 2006 (evening)

_May 12, 2006 (evening)_

_I find myself verging on ravenousness, thus I allow myself to eat whatever I can scavenge from around the jumble overtaking the house. Although I am constantly fighting the temptation to throw myself down on the first semi-soft piece of furniture that I come across and loll about, detailedly contemplating the ceiling, there are three things preventing me from doing that. One: Anything I throw myself down on is probably covered in dust, vermin, or mold. Two: the Queen herself has requested that I attempt to finish this in a timely fashion. Three: I am, to be entirely frank, far too inquisitive about Emma's past to forfeit the mission. I have been granted access to the garden, servants' quarters, widow's walk, and the garage. The servants' quarters were now magically yielding new bits of journal to my search, though unchanged in all other aspects. The widows walk and garden were extremely disagreeable, accounting for the deluge which has yet to fully stop since my arrival. I only managed to smuggle what I had searched for into the house by doubling over to shield them from the rain. The garage was damp, but several flickering lamps made it appear, though certainly not feel, warmer. It would appear that all of the ravens which has been ominously scrutinizing me with their piercing gazes had chosen the garage as their temporary shelter. When I had finally gained enough information to reveal another entry, my gleanings filled me with a sense of unease. June 1, 1895: Emma has fallen ill. She is fairly certain that the malady is a direct reaction to the stress under which she has been put in light of her father's illness and her leaving England. June 2, 1895: The ship upon which Emma had planned to travel to New York has departed without her presence, and her malaise has gained severity to where she has contracted high fever and can hardly stand for even mere moments without undergoing vertigo of sickening intensity. However, despite the misfortune having befallen her as of late, Charles has graciously granted Emma room and board in his recently completed home until she is well enough to travel back to the states. I worry. _


	10. May 12, 2006 (late)

_May 12, 2006 (late)_

_After this, I absolutely promise I am going to sleep. For real. Exhaustion is slowly curling its fist around me, but, given the opportunity to excavate the pantry, surveillance room, guest bathroom, parlor, kitchen, and the locked attic, I set to work after much internal debate. A note about the parlor: I swear that the light switch keeps moving. Seriously. The surveillance room was in order (order meaning utter shambles—as I last saw it). The flickering screens were quite eerie. I would see a shadowy figure emerge from the static in the corner of my eye and a moment later it would disappear. I would hear footsteps and low murmurs somewhere distant, but the moment I paused, straining to make out the sound, only silence. The guest bathroom was still set up as a temporary bedroom, as I had organized it the previous eve, although the ebony-toned feline took a shining to my nest and set up residence on the pile of porch cushions and towels is had amassed. Upon my arrival, it lazily lifted its head, took a moment to leer at me, and returned to its slumber. The pantry was sporting little change, save for the addition of more journal entry shreddings…This brings up a point: once I give an exhaustive sweep of the area, all the pieces are gone. I come back, and there are more to uncover. Logically, this would mean that either someone (or perhaps some*thing*) is in possession of the entire diary, and when I leave a room, whoever it is scatters new treasures. I am guessing that this is the same overseeing force which magically forces upon me a wave of overwhelming vertigo whenever I attempt exploration of a room which I have been forbidden to enter. Or there's my other theory: I am simply not searching well enough. But if that's the case, then why am I only finding the pieces that match, instead of a hodgepodge of all sorts of scraps, each irrelevant to the other? It is most peculiar. The pantry was warm, which was a pleasant change from the chilly atmosphere of the rest of the house, and the small colony of bats was seemingly delighted to see me, expressed by shrilly squeaking upon my entrance. On the other hand, perhaps they were enraged at my arrival and were taking an opportunity to loudly curse at me in bat. The kitchen was still needing to be searched, and yielded food as well as the sought after diary scraps. Finally, I trudged on towards the attic. This lock was perhaps the most peculiar so far (and yet I seem to find myself saying that about each one I solve). I pointed an arrow, each with a different symbol, towards a miniaturized skull emblazoned with a matching number. This then allowed me to summon a small mechanical yodeler into a diorama. As the yodeler climbed higher, a hammer fell, which smashed open the head of a porcelain doll. The doll's head revealed a key. The attic is cold, dark, creepy, and full of I don't even want to begin to ponder what; it's so dark, it's a wonder I found all of the necessary paper scraps. I left, feeling no urge to linger. From what I could reconstruct of Emma's diary, By June 10, 1895, her ailment remains undiagnosed and she passes her time scanning the pages of medical encyclopedias for answers. On the bright side, she is now sure that she has not fallen ill of yellow fever, from which many have passed. Charles, though ever benevolent, has become withdrawn, and she hears the most peculiar sounds emanating from his workshop late at night. Emma spends the greater part of her time resting in the hope that perhaps it will assist in curing her malady. When she is not convalescing, she explores the manor. Although beautiful, she notes that Charles has filled it with "an absolute horde of varied nonessentials!" If my instinct is to be believed, this accounts for the clutter upon which I am constantly stumbling. How odd…_


	11. May 12, 2006 (really late)

_May 12, 2006 (really late)_

_Promise broken. I couldn't resist staying up just a *little bit* later to do one more search. The storage room, music room, dining room, study, library, and tree house were now what I was allowed to search. The storage room lock involved matching several buttons marked with symbols to symbols hidden around the contraption, which released a mechanical mouse to scurry back and forth across a board. I then used a can opener to dislodge a block of what appeared to be some form of gelatinous canned meat. The mechanical mouse immediately was drawn to the nauseating concoction. After taking a moment to feast, it scampered to a wheel, the type typically associated with domestic rodents; the wheel's turning churned several gears, revealing a key. The storage room itself was not nearly as unpleasant as expected, save for the stale scent. I made the acquaintance of 'Bill', a suit of armor with a nametag, who turned out to be extremely amicable (not only was he largely silent, not providing any distraction with inane questions and senseless prattle as anyone else may have, but upon removing his foot, several scraps of paper fluttered to the ground!). I moved on to the library (still not a favorite location), study (far more pleasant), dining room (aside from journal fragments and heaps of assorted miscellany, uninteresting), and music room (I have now fully convinced myself that the human skull inlaid into the organ should be no source of fear). After a brief struggle hoisting myself up a rope, I was able to access my final location for the night. The tree house was at one point, I suppose, a delight. It was equipped with a soggy, velvet arm chair, a book case, now partially obscured by moss and detritus, and a radio, surprisingly not entirely destroyed. The rain left several large pools of water across the floor, dripping through the gaps in the roof. Although it was irritatingly dim, the final piece I searched for was decently easy to locate. Neither desiring to climb down to ground level nor find a suitable bed once I got there, I chose to kip in the treehouse for the night. The fatigue of the exploration on which I have set is beginning to settle in; I am finding it extremely difficult to remain awake even long enough to recount this leg of the quest. I was able, with however much strain to my weary eyes, to piece together another entry. June 14, 1895: Emma's fever is fluctuating dangerously, her mind is continually blacking out with no control. Things are taking a turn for the worst. June 15, 1895: A local physician gave an examination to ascertain the cause of her illness. She is exhausted by the unending array of pills, elixirs, and 'cure alls' which supposedly may quell the symptoms. Charles, though ever benevolently caring for her, suggested that Emma may benefit more from a live in nurse maid to care for her in her ailing state. She feels quite fortunate to have such a kindhearted companion. Sinking into the rejected armchair, I now attempt sleep._


	12. May 13, 2006 (good morning)

_May 13, 2006 (good morning…but not really.)_

_I woke up this morning. I was covered in a finely spun layer of dew. As a whole, it wasn't all together horrible, but perhaps the treehouse is not a favorable bedroom in the future. And I wouldn't have done that if not for being so exhausted, which was because I stayed up late, so from now on: don't stay up too late, don't sleep in a tree house, don't wake up covered in dew. Moving on. Backyard, tree house, garden, shed, living room, front porch, taxidermy room. The tree house I scanned first of course. The rain, which had begun as a light shower, picked up to a fair down pour. After finding a discarded piece of plywood, which served as a makeshift umbrella, I wandered to the garden and then around the side of the house to the front yard. The ravens I mentioned in previous entries have apparently decided that lurking in the garage is too much, and have perched on a piece of piping just under the jutting edge of the gutter. Although aside from the occasionally jarring call, I have no reason to fear these avians; and yet their presence fills me with a sense of dread. The shed lock was either exceedingly complex or perhaps I was distracted. Still sheltered beneath my mock umbrella, I spent perhaps ten minutes staring at the contraption barring my way out of the rain until, as if by a sudden snap of genius, I began flicking switches and turning knobs. I first unleashed several ordinary house flies from various tin cans, followed by prodding them to complete an electrical circuit. The circuit powered a mechanical horse racing game, the type in which a switch causes several painted horsemen to 'gallop' along their tracks to a point. I then moved on to a combination padlock. I fiddled with the dial, twisting it back and forth slowly until-click! - a small coin fell from behind the lock through a shoot. I placed the coin into the slot of the horse racing game and punched a colored button, which lit up. After jimmying a lever, the horses raced across the board. The red horse (the color I chose) won only in the occasion of my seventh attempt. The lock then crumbled, disintegrating to the floor as if turned to dust. The shed was a dry, if not cheery room, which smelled strongly of dry rot and gasoline. The single dusty bulb let of a milky glow, illuminating the diary scraps I searched for as plainly as if someone had held to my face in outstretched palm. Holding the plywood covering above my head, I set back towards the main house quickly. From the living room and porch have no news from which to report, though that's to be expected; I would feel at least slightly off-put if I were to find anything drastically changed. The taxidermy room is still unpleasant. I feel as though I am being observed intently by all of the glass eyes throughout the room. Over the course of almost a quarter hour and several slightly stale slices of bread, I pieced together the following. June 21, 1895: Charles continues to lurk about the manor, and continues to collect innumerable oddities. The library above Emma's room is particularly noteworthy. She notes that there is an impressive compilation of volumes whose subject matter is quite disturbing: witchcraft, voodoo, dark magic, necromancy, and the like, in such quantities that the shelving capacity has been exceeded. Both she and I find this new development quite disturbing. _


	13. May 13, 2006 (midday)

_May 13, 2006 (midday)_

_I take a break for lunch and to write. In continuation of my task, I have most recently excavated the widow's walk, guest bathroom, garage, entry, and servants' quarters. The rain has caused the gutters suspended above the widow's walk has overflowed and is dumping absolute sheets of water to the ground below. It was a bit like standing behind a waterfall (a muddy, slightly viscous waterfall); despite this, my search was unimpeded. I worked my way back towards the main floor, choosing next to scour the guest bathroom. The single shaded lamp bulb has burned out, leaving the only light to be from the slightly opaque, dusty window. This lack of luminescence made the search particularly challenging; I perhaps spent the most time of any room there; however, I could very well be inaccurate, as the hours- days- spent at Ravenhearst Manor have seemingly skewed my sense of timing. I quickly made my way to the garage. I was met with a most interesting palaver upon my arrival: I noticed a scrap of paper held fast in the beak of a bedeviled raven, the beast almost smiling at me in its triumph. After a long while of attempting to perhaps stun it by hurling various objects in arms reach, chasing it around the garage, and attempting to persuade it into relinquishing its bounty by 'sweet talking' it (yes, I sweet talked a bird), its amusement at my struggle waned and it dropped the scrap at my feet. Slightly tense with irritation, I continued on to the entry. The black cat sat calmly, dare I say lazily on the staircase, watching me. After finding the final pieces I could uncover in the entry, I moved to the final destination I had yet to seek: the servants' quarters. Aside from yielding the final diary pieces, the servants' quarters showed no exciting new discoveries. The moment my fingers curled around the final piece, I immediately set to work piecing the next entry together. July 13, 1895: Emma is unable to sleep, claiming that each time she attempts, she is woken with chills and elevated heart rate. This night, it is a frighteningly real nightmare. In this vision, she is sitting in her wheelchair and looks down to see herself clad in a white gown, exquisitely made of lace and satin. After a moment, she realizes that this is a wedding gown. She then realizes that paralysis has overtaken her body. She attributes this to her feverish temperature which as of late has cause many such nightmares. On another note, she has received no correspondence from her father, a most troubling development indeed. I must continue on…_


	14. May 13, 2006 (Afternoon)

_May 13, 2006 (Afternoon)_

_I feel as though things are beginning to piece together. I have explored the pantry, kitchen, study, library, parlor, and the locked cellar. The library proved a bit creepier than usual. I was minding my own business, just searching around, and I was startled to the point of literally leaping up from my crouch on the floor. The culprit was a book, tumbling off of its shelf. After slamming my head against the underside of a mostly empty shelf, I lunged for the offending piece of literature so as I could hurl it against the wall in frustration, I happened to notice the title: __Necromancy: A Guide.__ I am officially freaked out on extreme levels. EXTREME LEVELS! The study was a more welcome location, the wide windows letting in plenty of light. Granted, the rain is till persistent, but that's nothing new. The pantry was warm, which I still don't quite discern the cause of, and the bats showed no interest in me, only acknowledging my presence by ever so slightly twitching when I flung open the door. The kitchen was still crowded with untidiness, but after a brief hunt, I was easily able to find what I looked for. The parlor was largely unchanged from my first exploration, excepting the heaps of garbage that I had moved throughout various searches. Saving the worst for last, the cellar was examined after the parlor. Once again, I encountered a most strange lock, and once again I was set with the task of deciphering its puzzle. This one began with a grid of small lightbulbs laid in a square. The goal was to light them all, but each tie several turned on, an equal number was darkened. Once I had the grind completely lit, a colored battery dropped out of a small chamber. This I fitted into a battery chamber of corresponding color and repeated, lighting the grid a total of five times, a different configuration each time. This action was followed by meticulously adjusting the antennae on a miniature television screen which revealed, when focused, a video game of sorts. The first of three involved bouncing my icon, a small dot, off of a movable line without letting the dot miss the line and fall off of the screen. Once this was accomplished fifteen times, I proceeded to the next challenge. The goal was to keep the dot between a pair of lines which slithered back and forth across the screen unpredictably for thirty five seconds. The final challenge was to use the dot to collect twenty five circles while avoiding being hit by heart shaped blobs. All of these, though deceptively simple, were immensely challenging and required many attempts before success. Once unlocked, the cellar proved itself to be rather unpleasant. The scent of mildew permeates the air and black specks of mold creep up the plaster walls. The unfinished cement floor is covered in dust and everything else is covered in dust and cobwebs. However, the plaster of the walls is chipped on some places and reveals a layer of brick. I chose a well-placed spatula (because there is all sorts of stuff in the cellar, and a spatula is perfect for scraping plaster) and chipped away a section of the wall and noticed that a large section of the bricking in the wall appears to be more recently laid than the rest…I am certain that this means __something__, but perhaps it only shows that Dalimar was refinishing a damaged part of his cellar wall. After pondering this detail, I set to work assembling the jigsaw puzzle of a diary entry. July 14, 1895: Charles has hired a maid (or, as he calls her, matron) by the name of Rose Somerset to both assist in keeping house and checking in on Emma every so often. Charles remains distracted and aloof, though it is unknown how he passes the time. Regardless, the company of Rose is something which Emma is delighted by, hoping this new maid may bring back some light to her life which has been so lacking as of recent. Also, Emma is now confined to a wheelchair due to her illness. I believe that I recall seeing a wheelchair, an old-fashioned contraption, in the dining room during my last search. On that note, I continue to the next leg of my surveillance of Ravenhearst Manor. _


	15. May 13, 2006 (Late Afternoon)

_May 13, 2006 (Late Afternoon/Early Evening)_

_I have explored the music room, game room, front porch, tree house, back yard, and surveillance room. As always, the surveillance room feels like everything is watching me. The tree house was fine, but the small gaps where the tree and the tree house didn't join just so let in a fair amount of rain. The music room was cheery, and by cheery I mean spine-chilling, filthy, and about the last place I wanted to be. The front porch was more or less tolerable; it wasn't awful, but a strong breeze had picked up and at the moment is throwing rain drops helter-skelter. When I traveled to the back yard, I noticed much to my chagrin that those ravens are back. However, this time, they showed practically no interest in me, not one taunting crow! I suppose that I am actually quite pathetic, considering it a major victory that the birds are leaving me alone. The game room was at least somewhat interesting, being a new area to search. It is a large room, equipped with a roulette table, billiard table, another table for which I assume is reserved card games or other such activities, and shelf after hard wood shelf of dice, chips, cards, and many game elements with which I am unfamiliar. Supposing that the game room was as good a place as any to piece together another entry in Emma Ravenhearst's diary, being equipped with a large sturdy table, (after spending a while removing the heaps of knickknacks) I worked on the next entry. August 2, 1895: Rose Somerset has been a blessing, providing general care and much needed companionship. She has also noticed the odd behavior displayed by Charles. On this particular afternoon, Rose asks if Charles had ever previously wed; Emma explains that while previously single, Charles had made his intentions towards Emma exceptionally clear. With her interest piqued, Emma asks why Roses asks. Apparently, she has discovered a wedding gown in a wardrobe upstairs. The pair hurry upstairs to examine the garment in question. It is the same dress from Emma's nightmares! If I was feeling a tad apprehensive about the events of Emma's stay in Blackpool before, I am now certain beyond shadow of a doubt that something is wrong. _


	16. May 13, 2006 (Late Evening)

_May 13, 2006 (Late Evening)_

_I continue my search (as if I have anything else to do). Again I explore the kitchen and attic, but now I can also rifle through the master bedroom, master bathroom, and the greenhouse. The greenhouse is equipped with a lock, though I was able to open it eventually. The kitchen was unchanged; I am beginning to notice that that is a description of many rooms to which I regularly return. The attic is less than pleasant in comparison to other locations, what with the dimming light (or rather, lack thereof), mounds of all sorts of dilapidated I-don't-even-want-to-know-what, and the mouse infestation. The master bedroom followed the attic. Although still crowded with all manner of tchotchkes and rubbish, the large windows let in a decent amount of the fading lights. The massive four-poster bed looks luxurious, though seems to already be occupied by a calico cat (who I believe I mentioned earlier). I happened to notice a wheelchair, stacked with a cactus, a china figurine, and an empty fishbowl; this is, I am certain, the same chair which Emma must have spent a great deal of time confined to. The master bath was elegantly styled, though now has fallen into some disrepair. A small brown lizard seems to have found a comfortable home on a hissing radiator marked with patches of rust, and upon opening an ancient pill bottle (for Emma's medical treatment?), a small black beetle skittered out, causing me to drop the vessel in disgust. I opened the mirror cabinet above the sink and noticed in faint, spidery writing the words 'THIS HOUSE IS OURS' carved into the glass. I found the sentiment a bit disturbing. The green house was the final location. The lock was, in classic Ravenhearst Manor style, most peculiar. I began with eight images depicting various stages in a frog's life cycle. After numbering them in order, a roll of tape fell from an above ledge, nearly knocking me in the head in the process. Once recovered from the startle, I turned on a switch labeled __Water Pump__. A hose suddenly forced its way out of an unseen hole. I noticed a tear in the hose's outer layer, which I patched with the tape. I then selected several colored seeds from a paper sack, dropping them into flower pots of matching colors. I then used the hose to water the seeded pots and added the contents of a bottle of liquid fertilizer. Brightly hued blooms shot up from the soil as if by magic. A moment after they appeared, the flowers shriveled and the petals dropped, revealing behind them a rusted metal key, which fit perfectly into the padlock sealing the entrance to the greenhouse. Inside the greenhouse the air was significantly more humid and noticeably warmer. Verdant greenery grew rampant, ranging from common specimens to some of the most exotic vegetation I have ever seen. The atmosphere of the greenhouse has faded the writing of the entry, though not enough to make it illegible. What I read troubles me greatly: August 3, 1895: The disease is getting worse at a terrifying rate. At this point of progression, Emma is weakened by fever such that her vision is distorted to near blindness and her hands convulse, making inscribing in her journal a great challenge (Rose often records Emma's thoughts as she dictates). After the discovery of the dress in the wardrobe, accompanied by the pairs increasing anxiety towards Charles's behavior, they have agreed to hide the diary. I would assume that they just hid the diary in its entirety and the pages were shredded and scattered at a later time. A new finding proves that the fears about Charles may well founded. He has secretly adorned an upstairs bedroom to resemble a nursery, including a crib. As if that weren't alarming enough, in a neatly tied package in the crib was a stack of unopened letters from Emma's family in the United States. She fears for her life…_


	17. May 13, 2006 (Later Evening)

_May 13, 2006 (Later Evening)_

_Although I have seriously considered sleep, I felt that I must complete one more sweep of the manor. This last exploration before dropping off to sleep covered the master bedroom (in which I have decided to spend the hours till dawn), the guest bathroom, the wardrobe, the entry, the garage, and the cellar. The master bedroom was only a brief search, as I had already familiarized myself with its layout. The entry was the same as it has been each time since the beginning, and the black feline which resides in the manor seemed surprisingly pleased to see me again (at least, it did not take a swipe at me when I attempted to approach it). The guest bathroom was so dark by now I was forced to suspend my quest until I could find a flashlight, which was discovered in the master bedroom. The garage was dim in the twilight, and the shadows everywhere were more than a little ominous. The ravens had reappeared in the garage, though now had seemingly fallen asleep, their heads tucked under their wings. The part cellar wall still perplexes me, but I have reluctantly dismissed it as nothing. The wardrobe proved the most challenging, being a newly unveiled location. It is a large craft, with a panel in the back which slides open and reveals another six inches of space (and several pieces of diary entry). I swear that out of the corner of my eye, I could discern a figure, a woman wearing a long, white gown standing behind me, just watching. I turned around to confront her and I was alone. After the wardrobe, I sprinted back to the master bedroom to assemble the next leg of Emma's saga as settle in for the night. August 4, 1895: Emma's energy is waning rapidly. Rose claims that she has been drifting in and out of consciousness, she has yet to recover from her illness, and now it is known why… Rose caught Charles after he finished preparing Emma's dinner (apparently the limit of his activities, aside from amassing various miscellany and affixing peculiar items to various doors inside the house), and he was carrying a bottle labeled Phosphorous White in his pocket. After some investigation, it was discovered that Phosphorous White is a key ingredient poison. Is Charles trying to poison her? I must keep investigating. After a much needed rest._


	18. May 14, 2006 (Morning)

_May 14, 2006 (Morning)_

_I did not fall into a deep, restful sleep as I had so hoped I would. Instead I spent several hours staring blankly at the ceiling, fell asleep briefly, and awoke before dawn. Feeling only slightly more rested , I continued on to the theater, game room, storage room, parlor, nursery, pantry, and the widows walk. The crisp, damp morning air surrounding the widow's walk was refreshing, and I found myself in a cheery mood. I admit I paused for a while, watching the sun rise over the horizon, splitting cracks in the rain clouds, revealing bright orange and pink. The game room was far more eerie upon inspection. There was nothing specific, to my consternation, to conjure such unease; it was more of the room's aura of…I don't know, like something bad was going to happen any moment. The pantry was still curiously warm compared to the rest of the house, the reason for which, though not unwelcome, proves still unknown. The storage room was, like so many other areas, unchangingly cluttered, drafty, and rather dim. The parlor was as it has been for the duration so far of the investigation. The theatre in and of itself was interesting enough. A large projector screen, several padded seats, and an ancient looking stack of discarded film reel. I noticed, though, some technology which I am certain would have been invented at least several decades after the manor's construction, such as a DVD, dusty and scratched as it was, and a remote control. Perhaps that's what the strange goings on surrounding Ravenhearst Manor are? Mirrors, smoke, a few well-placed speakers, and someone's wild imagination? With this weighing on my mind, I attempted battle with the nursery lock. I was confronted with a mounted collection of trinkets, and a lever which slowly ticked down fifteen seconds of time. In that span, I was shown three items which were on the board; I had to find the items, place them in order in a row in a small shelf below the lever, and press a button before the lever reached the end of its track. The second level required me to find four items amidst the chaos, and the final to find five. When this was over, a nondescript brass key slid out from behind one of the knickknacks. I do not like the nursery, I've decided. It is full of cobwebs (and consequentially spiders), dust, and everything is staring at me, from the shelves of dolls to the cheerily smiling wall paper to the grinning teddy bears. I must admit, any child who would have spent time in this nursery would have their choice of toys, porcelain dolls, a wooden rocking horse, a brightly painted parade of circus figures, marionettes, and all sorts of other toys and games. Upon closer examination, the crib contained heavy twine, the type typically used to tie together mailed parcels, and a few yellowing (though disappointedly empty) envelopes. Once I found the final journal pieces, I began assembly immediately. August 5, 1895: So many questions…is Charles a murderer? What could have driven him to these ends? Can Emma even be trusted to have pieced this together, what with her constant slipping between waking and delirious nightmares? Rose believes herself to be correct. Charles has been poisoning Emma for who knows how long to keep her by his side. He has fallen away into his own twisted fantasies…It has been decided that Emma and Rose will leave the manor as soon as they can. They must flee, or else surely Charles will take their lives. _

_I am onto something monumental, I can feel it. What happens next? Only one way to find out…_


	19. May 14, 2006 (Afternoon)

_May 14, 2006 (Afternoon)_

_I fell asleep. One minute I was sitting on the floor of the nursery, thinking about how I should have gotten more sleep when I had the chance, I closed my eyes (just for a moment, I swear!) and the next I was waking up, feeling uncomfortably stiff, late afternoon sunlight streaming through the high window. Drat. Realizing that I must have been sleeping for several hours, I sprang up in almost panic, taking off to the guest quarters, taxidermy room, front porch, library, tree house, green house, cellar, and attic. The taxidermy room is still uncomfortable, everything is watching me, and I am ninety percent certain that everything is ready to kill me when I turn around. I moved on to the front porch. The rain has stopped temporarily, giving way to hazy sunlight. That's a first. If it weren't for the overcrowding of junk and the dilapidated state of the manor, Ravenhearst would probably be a beautiful location to spend a week or two. The library is still full of tomes on dark magic and the like, which impeded my search greatly, as they practically overtake the shelf space and form unsteady towers across the floor. The tree house was next, and, though damp, decently comfortable; all together, it was far more pleasant than other locations which I have searched previously. I climbed down quickly, adrenaline coursing through me for no valid reason, and half ran to the green house. After picking through the foliage, I uncovered the journal entry pieces and continued to the cellar. Odd, it seemed as though more of the plaster had been chipped away from the wall than had been when I last left it. No…probably just my imagination…Next I scrambled to the top floor to investigated the attic. The dusty window let in just enough light to search by, though it did take me a long while to uncover the pieces I searched for. The final area was the guest quarters, which, as I had predicted, was locked. This lock involved a mechanical hen, a toaster, and a pistol. First I aimed the pistol at an apple, which then of its own will fired, causing the fruit to explode, revealing a series of odd symbols hidden behind it. I punched the characters into a typewriter, allowing a small boot to descend, poised to kick the mechanical fowl. I flipped the switch on the toaster, and a moment later the toasted bread popped out, '3 ½' toasted onto it. On a hunch, I nudged a metallic clip into position on the wooden ruler to which it was attached at the 3 ½" mark. Automatically, three jars descended over a funnel. I blindly tossed pinches of colored powder from each jar in various combinations into a bowl of seeds. When I had finished, the mechanical hen's head shot forward, sucking up the mixture. When a majority of the feed had been 'devoured', the boot kicked the hen, who laid a colored egg. This I repeated enough times to fill the half of an egg carton attached to the mechanism. The final egg landed on a mechanized lever, which opened the door with a 'click!' The guest quarters were roomy enough, furnished with a large canopy bed, a stone fire place, and a chest of drawers. Being towards the heart of the manor, there are no windows, and yet several gas lamps (I counted half a dozen) give off plenty of light. I sat down to work on piecing together the entry…August 6, 1895: As Rose packs her belongings and those of Emma's, Emma uses what strength she has left to record another entry. Charles Dalimar has left the manor, though his time of return is unknown. The conclusion has been made the Charles has been fully consumed by his insanity; he moves about erratically, speaking nonsense to himself. Rose believes that the odd devices bound to the doors (many of which I seemingly have encountered) are locks, and he wants to keep Emma with him forever. She is so weak, but she and Rose must flee together. Why would he…and the writing on that page trailed off into a thin, fading line, as if her hand had fallen limp while writing. In utter frustration, I quickly turned the page over, hoping that Emma would resume her thoughts on the back. What met my eyes is quite disturbing: crimson. A saturated blot of deep scarlet stains the page. I suppose it could be red ink, spilled by mistake by her hand convulsions, and yet I know, though I wish not to write it for fear of making the awful indication a reality…blood. Charles Dalimar murdered Emma Ravenhearst!_


	20. May 14, 2006 (Evening)

_May 14, 2006 (Evening)_

_I'm uncertain what else I am expected to uncover in Emma's diary…another page, from the point of view of Rose Somerset? An explanation from Charles? A newspaper clipping explaining Emma's demise? With fear gripping me tightly, I hurry on to the music room, theater, dining room, kitchen, master bedroom, wardrobe, back yard, and Charles's workshop. In comparison to this electrifying terror, the fear I used to associate with the skull inlaid in the organ in the music room seems only a distant, inane joke. After the music room I ran in the direction of the theater, vaulting around and over heaps of odds and ends stacked nearly waist high. The theater was unchanged, and yet I still found the scraps of paper which I have been so carefully searching for throughout days past. A thunder storm has blown in, shaking the window panes, lightning cracking the sky; I knew the sunshine was too good to last. The dining room was the same as I had left it, but now I noticed a new, frightening detail. After decluttering a wheel chair sitting abandoned in a corner, I saw something I hadn't noticed before: the back of the chair is stained red with blood, just like the diary page. The kitchen was in order (or rather, disorder), and I reluctantly scarfed down whatever I could salvage as I rummaged. After uncovering the fragments in record time (I think- I may have mentioned that my time perception is a bit skewed), I continued to the master bedroom, seeming to gain momentum as I worked. After shooing a cat from around my feet (where she seemed quite content to sit and beg for attention), I took off at a run for the backyard (where the flock of spectated with seeming amusement at my exploration). The wardrobe was next. I saw that ghostly figure of a woman in the mirror again, this time staring at me intently, as if waiting for me to take some course of action. Again I turned around and she was gone. I remember writing previously that I firmly deny the paranormal, and yet now…I do believe that ghosts may be more real than I had previously though. I moved on to the workshop. The lock to this domain was peculiar, but by now I have come to expect that from Dalimar. I began by releasing a battery by sliding various tiles in a grid until I could reveal a clear path for the battery to travel. This powered a small fan, which I turned on and slipped down in its track to the lowest possible angle. I next depressed a small lever, releasing a tiny rubber ball from a slot. The sphere rolled into the path of the fan, sprung up away from the whirling blades, smashing a painted egg to reveal another battery. I hitched this to a battery compartment which in turn connected to an amplifier which connected to a guitar. I strummed the guitar, and the sound waves launched a card, the approximate dimensions of a credit card. This I used to open the door. The workshop is more or less as I imagined it: a mostly blank floor, dominated by several stacked shelves and a desk overflowing with odd tools among other things. A large lamp hangs from the ceiling, casting a pool of murky yellow light. I noticed numerous pieces which I recognized as belonging to other locks, such as the mechanical jockey game from the shed, the elephant shaped bank from the music room, and a spare guitar pick from the workshop lock, among others. I picked through the shambles until I found the pieces and pieced together one last entry, which I directly quote here… May 14, 2006: I have watched you move about this dark place for some time now, inspecting various items around the house. You carry what remains of my diary! We were both lost long ago and you must listen, for I have little time! I have been trapped here for so long and you are my only hope to break free of this horrible place. Please listen and do as I say before he returns! He keeps me in the cellar, but you must look beyond the brick and mortar. The last locked door requires seven skeleton keys which are hidden throughout the house. Without your help I can never go home. –Emma Ravenhearst_

_Okay…a three things. One: the patch of bricking in the cellar is __not__ nothing (I knew it!). Two: my skepticism of the supernatural is, well, wrong. Three: I am about to go on a search of the entire house looking for nondescript keys amongst the endless sea of junk. _

_I will help you, Emma, I promise…_


	21. May 14, 2006 (Late Evening)

_May 14, 2006 (Late Evening)_

_Let's make a list: shed, garden, backyard, game room, taxidermy room, guest quarters, master bedroom, wardrobe, nursery, kitchen, front porch, servants' quarters, parlor, cellar, surveillance room. I'm going to take notes as I go…_

_Shed: Dig key out of bucket of viscous water, cringe, dry arm on rag found on floor, think to myself that this is going well._

_Garden: Key is in hole in tree. Climb tree, precariously balance on branch, grab key, jump out of tree, double over and try to catch breath, move on. _

_Backyard: Key is hanging on a hook drilled into brick wall at least eight feet out of reach. Remove with long pointy stick, catch, shove in pocket, keep moving. Grounds done._

_Game Room: No keys (sad face)_

_Taxidermy Room: Pluck key out of taxidermy lion cub's mouth. Be glad to leave taxidermy room hopefully for good (but don't count on it)._

_Guest Quarters: Also no keys (sadder face)_

_Master Bedroom: Key is under the cat under the bed. Ugh. Mutter angrily, throw shoe at cat, crawl under bed, grab key, grab shoe, make a run for next room. Realize later that the third floor is now inaccessible. _

_Wardrobe: Wardrobe is on third floor with master bedroom. Third floor is done. That's one less room to look at._

_Nursery: See wardrobe._

_Kitchen: Find padlock, corkscrew, and skateboard, but no key. Continue to mutter angrily and move on._

_Front Porch: Floor completed. _

_Servant's Quarters: Find key sitting obviously visible on nightstand. Grab, shove in pocket, keep running._

_Parlor: Already completed floor. Wonder how well this is actually going._

_Cellar: So THAT'S what's behind the wall!_

_Surveillance Room: No keys left to find._

_Here goes nothing!_


	22. May 14, 2006 (Midnight)

_May 14, 2006 (Midnight)_

_Although it is quite late, I feel obliged to explain my previous entry in more depth and the events following…I split the house and grounds by floor, and picked through each area as quickly as I could, jumping at every noise, wondering if it were Charles, ready to exact revenge upon me… I admit in my haste I overlooked the keys in several locations multiple times, causing me to have to turn back, mumbling irritably all the way. I actually found all seven keys, but was so intent in my search that I got all the way back to the front porch before realizing and racing (so fleetly that I tripped, sprawling in the entryway) to the cellar. Once there, I grabbed the nearest weapon I could get my hands on, a spatula and a slightly rusted pry bar. With the trusty spatula, I scraped away the rest of the plaster, leaving a snow-like heap of white dust at my feet. I swung the pry bar into the wall, shattering a brick into small chips of red stone. I managed to lever out enough bricks afterward to reveal a final lock (though luckily not another complicated puzzle!). No, instead I saw a wooden door with a buzzing orb in the center, around it were several small hooks, each connected with wire to the orb. Above each hook was carved a symbol, and emblazoned on the end of each key was a matching symbol. Quickly, my hands shaking, I placed the keys to their matching hooks. Each time I moved a key to the corresponding hook, the orb would fog, and then slowly reveal the nearly indistinct outline of a letter. As I pieced the lock together, I was able to discern the word FOREVER. The orb began to cloud again. The door swung open, creaking. Inside was a simple wooden coffin, several candelabras, and a bunch of dead lilies. The tomb of Emma Ravenhearst. Tentatively, almost fearing, I nudged the lid of the coffin aside. Inside, a skeleton dressed in white gown and veil. As soon as it had sunk in what I had discovered, the corpse faded away as if it were made of mist. Sweat dripping down the back of my neck, my hands trembling, and my heart racing, I smiled. I walked with slow, measured strides, almost a trudge, out of the front door, across the grounds, out of the iron gate, to my hotel room, where I __finally__ has an opportunity for a good night's rest, a hot shower, and some actual food. When I arrived, I found several envelopes on my pillow waiting to be opened. One was addressed from the Queen of England. She congratulated me on solving a baffling case which has apparently been puzzling experts for decades. Also, as reward for my unmatched detective skills, bravery, and perseverance, I am an official member of the Royal Secret Service and am allowed all of the membership's privileges and entitlements. I have earned the trust of the Crowned Princes of Europe who will no doubt be seeking my help in future cases. It even came with a badge. I do believe that I am no longer just an amateur sleuth…I am officially an authorized detective! I also received a letter of thanks from the mayor, congratulating me on lifting the curse of Ravenhearst Manor, and inviting me to visit Blackpool at any time I desired. The final envelope was unaddressed, though I know from whom it was sent. Inside was a black and white photograph of a young woman, tall, thin, with light skin and a sweep of black curly hair tied under a bonnet. She wears a plain dress and shawl, and appears as though she were waving at the camera. She stands on a ship's dock and carries a large suitcase. On the back, in thin, flowing scrawl was the simple message 'Thank you, my dear friend.' It was signed E.R._


End file.
